


Truths

by yeaka



Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Light Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 07:40:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11203455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: That night in Veld, Steve finds out how Diana thinks ‘making love’ starts.





	Truths

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TAFKAB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TAFKAB/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for urbanspaceman’s “Diana + Steve + magic lasso bondage” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/). Fair warning that I know nothing of Wonder Woman beyond the 2017 movie.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Wonder Woman or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

She’s _beautiful_. Like Etta said: the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen, whether or not he tries to hide it in bland suits or ill-fitting glasses or a tight bun that covers the sleek waves of her dark hair. He shuts the door slowly behind him, hoping she’ll tell him if this isn’t right, but her eyes seem to burn as hot as his. So Steve lets it close, his jacket already off, and drifts towards her like a moth drawn to a flame. 

She’s just as dangerous. But she breathes, “ _Steve_ ,” like a siren, one he couldn’t live without anymore, and he moves right into her arms. They open so _easily_ for him; he’s an honoured as he is hungry. He loops his arm around her waist, the same way he did when they danced, and leans closer into her. Her dark eyes fall to his lips, his on hers. She even smells good, like they didn’t just have a sweat-slicked battle in a slew of grime and gunpowder. He brings their mouths together, finally _kissing_ her, and all grace leaves his body; he’s never wanted anyone so badly.

For a woman who’s never kissed a man before, Diana excels—she surges back into him, just as strong as he knew she would be, and he has to slide his hand into her silk-soft hair, half just to keep her at bay. He tries to guide it, but of course he can’t; Diana kisses him hard enough that he almost stumbles back a step. He swipes his tongue across her lips without thinking; he wants _inside_ , and she opens up with a little moan that makes a shiver run down his spine. He tries to pull her trim body tight against him, _feeling_ her everywhere—her slender waist, her smooth thighs, even the hard juts of her armoured-covered breasts. The kisses doesn’t seem to have an end, just meld into another and another, _making out_ like teenagers—Sameer would probably have a good laugh. Then die of envy. It’s all Steve can do to keep his head straight.

But he does, and he uses it; he wants _more_ , all of it, everything this incredible woman will give him—he diverts both hands to her shoulders and tries to shrug the cloak away—Diana catches on quickly and slips her arms through. She lets him brush it off, lets it fall to the floor. As soon as her arms are free, her hands are at the buttons of his shirt, and she’s pushing through with expert ease. It strikes him belatedly that he has no idea how to take off her gauntlets, let alone the rest of her outfit. But he wants it _off_. He’s pictured her naked a dozen times on the journey, as much as he’s tried not to, has certainly tried not to stare, but she strips him like she’s done the same. She makes short work of his shirt and pushes his arms back to strip it off and toss it away. 

He lets her do the undressing. She seems to know what she’s doing, and he’d rather just ravish her anyway—she tastes like a dream. But he kisses away from her mouth, pecking along her cheek to brush her hair aside and suck along her neck—she moans just like he’d hoped, squirming in his arms. Every sound she makes goes straight to his cock. As if she wasn’t perfect enough. Steve mouths at her slender column and slides his hands back, daring to slip beneath her skirt. He cups her ass, squeezes it, gets drunk off how damn _good_ it feels, at least until she stops him.

Diana takes both of his wrists and pushes them back against his stomach. He lets her, parting them enough to mutter, “Sorry,” but she cuts it off by catching his mouth again. So he just goes with it, at least until he feels something hot along his skin, and his wrists are pulled right together. She parts their mouths to push his arms up, right over his head, and suddenly Steve’s not so sure she knows what’s she doing anymore. 

Bending his elbows and pulling his hands down against the back of his head, Diana threads the glowing rope across Steve’s shoulder, loops around it, then across the other side, up and through the binding at his wrists again. He stands, dumbfounded but still painfully aroused, while she winds her lasso skillfully down his chest in tight crisscrosses. She grins at him the whole time, eyeing him up like he’s sure he eyes her, but she pulls out his belt and tosses it away, working at his fly, and Steve starts, “Whoa, whoa—”

She moves to kiss him, but he dodges, suddenly tugging at his bonds—he doesn’t need his cock enveloped in this... thing. Not surprisingly, the lasso doesn’t give at all. His only option left is to stutter, “What’re you doing?”

“I’m going to make love to you,” she purrs in her exotic, sexy-as-all-hell voice, which _almost_ lets him forget the potential cock-bondage. 

Still leaning away from her, he numbly asks, “So why’re you tying me up?”

Naturally, she answers, “That’s how love is made,” with complete certainty. “Antiope explained it very clearly.”

If it were anyone else, he’d think they were joking. But she looks utterly serious, and he knows what other wild nonsense Diana believes, whether or not they’re true. He dryly clarifies: “By tying the man up.”

“Yes,” Diana says with a hint of a chuckle in her lilting accent. “She said men are very slippery and must be held.”

Steve can only say, “No.” And at least hopefully the lasso will back him up.

Diana looks at him for a moment, the smile slipping, and she repeats, “No?”

Shaking his head with exaggerated emphases, Steve tells her in no uncertain terms: “Diana, _no_.”

Slowly and curiously, Diana concludes, “I... should not tie you up.”

“Well, I mean... you _can_. But I’d prefer not with this particular rope, and a little warning might be nice. And maybe a better angle on the arms.” In fact, he should probably just save the lesson on that particular delight for another day, when he can also explain that mere mortal men can’t hold their arms up indefinitely.

For all her stubbornness on some subjects, she seems to accept his knowledge on that least, and she nods, loosening her grip on the lasso and reaching out as though to undo it. But then she pauses, glances at his eyes, holds his gaze with hers, and quietly asks, “Do you love me?”

The lasso gives him no choice. He admits, “Yes,” knowing he would’ve said it anyway.

She smiles like a star. She starts pulling the rope free immediately and has it gone in seconds. Then Steven can drop his arms and massage one shoulder lightly while he looks at her: no less gorgeous for their differences. He still very much _wants her_.

He leans down again, and she tilts to meet him, before hooking a finger into his pants and tugging him back towards the bed. He follows, like he’d follow her anywhere, and hopes to when this is all over, and they can celebrate in one another’s arms.


End file.
